New York Lights: Part I
by RedTailedHawkens
Summary: Hart of Dixie is a fish out of water story, but what if instead of Zoe being the fish in Bluebell, Wade was the fish in the big city? More detailed description inside.
1. Chapter 1: Mystery Girl: Zoe's POV

Author's Note: I, so this is an idea I've been working with for a while. It is a two-part story, but I don't want to give too much away. I wanted to experiment with different story telling styles, and I really, really like the book _Flipped_, so this story is going to be told in that style. For those unfamiliar, _Flipped_ is told in first person and flips back and forth between the main characters each chapter, but what is really cool is that instead of going forward with each chapter, it goes forward every other chapter letting you see what happened twice but from a different perspective. Sometimes the dialogue is different, but that is intentional, because two people do not always recall a conversation the same way. I highly recommend the book. Anyway, this story gets its style from that book, but not the story line.

* * *

In his late teens, Wade and his band brave the big city in hopes of becoming stars. They try multiple record companies, one of which has a brunette, brown-eyed mystery girl who Wade can't seem to stop thinking about.

* * *

Zoe Hart is bored out of her mind. It's summer, and she's stuck sitting in her mom's PR office and going with her to multiple clients. She sits reading magazines in the hall of a record company her mom works with, watching pathetic hopefuls traipse in and out, not giving her a second glance. Until one does. Maybe this summer just got a little more interesting.

* * *

I hope you like it. Let me know what you think. And no, I am not abandoning my other stories. The truth is, I actually have a lot of stories that I am working on but have not been able to post yet. Oh, and I know the first chapter is kind of short, which I apologize for, but they should get longer as the story progresses.

* * *

New York Lights: Part I

Chapter One

Mystery Girl

Zoe Hart POV

Some summer vacation. This was hell. I was supposed to be spending this time with my dad, observing him at work. I have college in two years, and he promised he would help me pad my resume with all things medical, complete with a free hands-on tutorial at New York's best hospital. Then, he decides to up and go to Europe. Again. He's been spending a lot of time there. I get that he and mom split, but we didn't. He always promises to be around, but he never … okay, Zoe, breath, stop obsessing. This is not personal. Your dad is a world-renowned surgeon and people need him. It's not as though he's doing something dumb and meaningless like, oh, I don't know, trying to hype up a bunch of rock star wannabes. No, that's mom's job. My mother, Candice Hart, is a PR agent. Her agency handles everything from chart-topping music stars to people from The Food Network. It's great when you need to interview somebody you know for a school project, but spending the summer vacation between my sophomore and junior year of high school 'volunteering,' in her office was not my idea of fun. I had read every magazine in her waiting area twice as hopeful after hopeful waited to be told by her receptionist that Ms. Hart was ready to see them.

"Please, just give me something to do." I begged said receptionist. Her name was Liza, and she was an elderly woman with white-blonde hair and two much makeup. She sort of reminded me of that Estelle lady from _Friends_, except thinner and not as nice.

"Dahling, I told you, we don't need anything done. Just sit your tush down like a good little girl and wait for your mommy to give you something to do."

She was talking down to me like I was some child. I really hated that. Some days, I did stuff, like put up fliers or rearrange files, but the employees really do not like some teenager stepping on there toes. Of course, I hate doing those things, but doing something you hate beats doing nothing. With a sigh, I sat back down at picked one of the magazines back up.

"Anything interesting in there?" Somebody with a southern drawl said to me. I looked up and couldn't help but snicker. There was a guy standing there in what I can only refer to as country casual, holding a guitar and grinning at me.

"And who are you supposed to be? Wait, let me guess, you're a cowboy who's horse's shoe broke and you need to wait here until you can find somebody to fix it?" It came out a little meaner than she intended, but, come on, what sort of reaction did he expect walking into a New York office dressed like that?

His grin dropped slightly, "As a matter of fact, I'm here to audition with my band for the big cheese back there." He motioned to my mom's office with his head.

I nodded, giving him my wide, sarcastic eyes and picking up another magazine, "Yeah. Got that Billy Ray. Little tip though, drop the fake accent; she'll decide on your image if she wants to sign you, but you can't go in putting on an act."

"Hey. This accent is one hundred percent real. Courtesy of Bluebell, Alabama."

I couldn't help but laugh, "Bluebell? Is that even a real place?"

"Oh, it's real sweetheart, and you will never find a kinder, charminger, weirder small town if you looked your whole life."

"Is that so?" he nodded, I crossed my arms and sat up straighter, "Then why are you in New York?" I don't know why I was giving him a hard time exactly. I guess it was because I was bored, and him talking to me was the most interesting thing to happen to me all summer. I know, pathetic right?

He looked away awkwardly for a second, then grinned again, "Uh, small-town life ain't for everyone. Maybe I want to get out and make somethin' of myself."

There was a weird quality to his voice when he said it, "Sounds like you're running away from something." I said. I don't know why. Maybe it was because sometimes I felt like that.

He looked at me a little surprised, "Why would you say a thing like that?"

_Good question_, I thought. It was a little weird, since it was what I had just been thinking. I tried to come up with an answer, but I couldn't, so I just shrugged.

"So, what are you here for? Let me guess, actress, right?"

I smiled, probably a little more flattered than I should be, "Maybe."

"Well, you certainly got the diva attitude down."

Ouch, "You know that after talking to me for two seconds?"

"I'm good at reading people," he said, giving me a charming smile. I won't lie; it was a nice smile. "Listen, I ain't sayin' it's a bad thing. Girls who just bow down without puttin' up a fight are totally borin'. Besides, sass is way sexy."

I felt my face growing a little red in spite of myself, "What makes you think my goal is to be sexy? There are more important things in this world than sex you know."

He laughed, and his eyes lit up when he did. They were nice eyes, "Not in my world."

"Does everybody in your world dress like a cowboy?"

"Sweetheart, people in my world don't dress like anything at all."

I tried not to smile. It was crude, he was crude, but I'd be lying if I said his comment was not a little funny.

"I saw that," he said. I'd been caught, but I tried to pretend it didn't bother me.

"You always this crude with total strangers?"

"It's part of my charm," he said, shooting me another grin, " 'Sides, who says we have to be strangers," he sat down in the chair next to me and put out his hand, "I'm Wade."

I rolled my eyes, but I took his hand. It was definitely a musician's hand; it was calloused and rough, but strong and steady. My hand basically disappeared in it, "Nice grip," I said, "That'll serve you well in there. She likes people with firm handshakes. First impressions can make or break it for you."

"You met her before?" he asked, surprised.

I snorted, "You could say that."

"Well, can you put in a good word for me?"

"Wouldn't be fair," I said teasingly, "I've never heard you play."

"You can't just take my word for it?" he asked, but his tone was humorous.

"Sorry." I said with a shrug.

He smiled. It was not the same charming smile. It was gentler. His eyes caught mine, and for some reason I couldn't look away. Then, he looked up, "Well, that's me." he started to stand and grabbed his guitar, then looked down at me, "Hey, you never told me your name."

"No, I didn't." I said, picking my magazine back up.

"You gonna?" I shook my head and he chuckled, "Well then, mystery girl, I guess this is goodbye." I smiled as he left. Mystery girl, I liked that. The idea that I could be anybody I wanted to be; to this guy I was not Zoe Hart, I wasn't the stuffy bookworm from the snooty family, I was Mystery Girl. Mystery Girl could be anybody. I could be an actress or singer her to meet with Ms. Hart about getting represented, or somebody who worked here or just, just anybody.

I had thought he had left, but then I heard that southern drawl again, "Maybe I'll see ya 'round." I looked up and saw him walking off towards the office. He was not facing me, and he had not waited for a response. Maybe he never said it. I guess I could have imagined it. Oh well, I guess it's just one more mystery for Mystery girl.


	2. Chapter 2: Cowboy: Wade's POV

Chapter Two

Cowboy

Wade Kinsella POV

We were finally here. New York. I felt like taking a deep breath and drinking it all in, but as I looked around the subway station I thought better of it. Maybe when we got above ground. Of course I had heard all the horror stories about New York and the smog and the muggings, but right now I just didn't care. What mattered was that I was out of Bluebell, and that if we played our cards right, the four of us had a chance to really make something of ourselves.

We didn't have any money for some fancy hotel to stay in, but luckily, Jordan, one of the guys in the band, had an old family friend in the city who had offered to put us up. Oh yeah, we're a band. I probably should have mentioned that. We're called _Sippin' Whiskey_, and while we won't be up for a Grammy any time soon, we can hold our own. There's Jordan, Dan, Drake, and me. Other than Dan, we were all fifteen; though it was lucky Dan wasn't because sometimes you need a guy with a license. Not that I don't know my way around a vehicle. I'm a pretty good driver, and I don't mind taking a risk or two. In fact, I loved taking risks, but in some situations, it just wasn't worth it. Besides, New York wasn't Bluebell. Talking circles around the town sheriff is one thing, but I wouldn't know the first thing about dealing with the NYPD. Personally, I think these driving rules are a little bizarre. If a kid has a knack when he's fourteen or fifteen, why should he have to wait? It should be about how good of a driver you are, not how old you are.

Anyway, the point was that we were here. The four of us lived in Bluebell our whole lives, and we were all the guys from the poor families with the bad grades and worn out shirts who everybody thought would never amount to anything. You know that kid you feel bad for, but still don't want to be seen playing with; that's what we were. Of course, after puberty hit, I was able to cash in my natural good looks, bad boy attitude and southern charm to make even the snobbiest of girls more than willing to slum it with me, but it wasn't like we didn't both know they were slumming. That was all going to change now though. We'd been talking for months about this trip; the second school got out for the summer, we were gonna venture out and badger every company in the business until they listen to us. Three months in New York, and we were going to make them count.

It was exciting, knowing that I could reinvent myself, that nobody knew me here, or more importantly, my family. Not that they were bad people. They were cool as far as families go, and we all cared about each other. It was just the money thing, and the fact that my dad wasn't well educated, and the fact that I got my dad's brains where my brother got my mom's. It was all pretty dumb stuff really, but it was nice to know that I could just be whoever here.

We didn't want to waste any time, so we decided to get right into it. Drake didn't even want to stop off where we were staying, but we convinced him that body odor was not a good way to get signed.

The placed looked cool, but I didn't really take the time to look around. We would have time for that later. We all took quick navy showers, and headed out.

It was in and out of buildings, people who wouldn't even let us past the receptionist. If we were older, we probably could have talked our way in, at least when the receptionists were girls, but as it was, that was not likely to happen.

A few buildings were more receptive. They let us go in and play. It sort of felt like they were just humoring us, but we were going to make the most of it.

This was the second place that seemed like they might be willing to listen, though the odds of us getting anywhere were still slim. I wasn't gonna let it get me down though. If I did that, the battle was lost already.

There were a lot of people waiting around. Maybe they just let anybody go audition here. That did not exactly bode well as far as this audition meaning anything, but hey, it's about getting your foot in the door, right?

It was a long wait though. I needed to find a way to entertain myself; something that would keep me fresh, clean, and confident.

I scanned the room, and bingo: Brunette, around my age, sitting in a chair all by herself, reading a magazine. Her nose was buried in the thing like she was trying to shield herself from the rest of the world. That meant she was either a shy wallflower, or a diva who was cutting herself off because she thought she was too good for everybody here. I wondered which. Not that it mattered, I could get either into the backseat, and I know, because I have, but the tactics I would use would be different. It was like fishing, you want to catch a certain kind of fish; you gotta use the right bait.

I wasn't planning to hook up with her of course. Well, I wasn't planning to right now. No, what I needed was some simple flirting. It was something I knew I was good at, and it would help me feel like I was in my element, even if I was in New York.

Slowly, I made my way over. I meandered, I guess is the word. I knew she wasn't looking, so it wasn't really for affect. It's just something that works for me, so I sort of like to do it. She did not seem to notice me, which was kind of good. It meant I had to make her notice me, which was always fun. Besides, girls tend to get flustered when you sneak up on 'em, and that is always an entertainin' site.

"Anything interesting in there?"

She looked up, and then sort of squinted at me, like she thought I was a mirage and she was checking to see if I was real or not. I guess she decided I was, because she smirked. It was a condescending smirk; the sort you get from cheerleaders in high school. Well, not me, cheerleaders dig me, but I've seen some guys get that look. Anyway, that's the kind of look it was, so, yeah, diva, definitely diva, "And who are you supposed to be?" Before I could answer, she started answering herself. It was strange. I mean, I knew she was being sarcastic, and I could hear the sarcasm in her voice, but she was really putting on a show of pretending to sound sincere, like, after she said she was gonna guess, she took time thinking of her answer. It was kinda like how people are when their playin' charades. We both knew she wasn't serious, but she was kind of getting into it anyhow. Like I said, strange, "You are … a cowboy," simple enough, "who's horse's shoe broke and you need to wait here until you can find somebody to fix it?" Clever. Not very nice, but clever.

I could tell she was making fun of me, which I didn't like. I could also tell she wasn't really attracted to me, which I liked even less. Still, it wasn't worth losing my cool over. I decided the best way to proceed was keep things simple and not let on that it bothered me.

I told her I was here to audition, to which she responded with more sarcasm. She certainly liked sarcasm. And condescension. I wonder if that's a New York thing. She seemed basically done with me, picking her magazine back up as she made her final comment. Still, I had gotten her to tear her eyes away from the magazines for a minute or two. Seemed to me I still had a shot.

Of course, then, she decides to accuse me of faking my accent. I take offense to that, which is why I clarified to point, telling her that I was from Bluebell. She laughed when I said the name, not thinking it was a real place. I'm embarrassed to admit this but, it was a nice laugh. It was melodious, and I noticed. I liked it. You can see why I'd be embarrassed.

I felt the need to defend my hometown of course. I loved Bluebell. I didn't even really mind living there; I just didn't want to _have to_ live there.

"Oh, it's real sweetheart. Little town where everybody knows everybody and snow falls once in a Blue moon. Practically straight out of a fairytale … if fairytales had gossipmongers and quirky traditions. Trust me, you will never find a kinder, charminger, weirder small town if you looked your whole life."

It may have been my imagination, but she was starting to seem a little interested. She sat up and tilted her head to the side, "Is that so?" I nodded, grinning, "Well, if this place is _so_ great, what are you doing in New York?"

The question probably shouldn't have caught me off guard, but it did. I should have seen where this conversation would go. What could I say? I wanted to be somewhere nobody knew me? I wanted to have a shot at becoming more than my dad? I wanted to stop being compared to my brother? I wanted to make a life for myself, where I had my own money and my own place, and I was Wade instead of the younger Kinsella boy?

I knew I had to say something, so I spit out the best thing I could think of, trying to pretend I did not feel awkward in the slightest, "Small-town life ain't for everyone." That seemed a little weak. Besides, it was not as though I disliked small-town life. It loved it. It was all I knew, and I had always been comfortable with that, until lately. Lately, I had really needed to get away. Especially with the stuff going on at home, but I'll go into that later, "Maybe I want to get out on my own and make somethin' of myself."

"Almost sounds like you're running away from something." He voice had a sad, distant quality to it. In that second, I realized two things. One, this girl I didn't even know had been able to get a read on me and what I was trying to hide, and two, she felt the same way. She was running from something, or wanted to be. I looked at her again, really looked this time. I realized her eyes were large, like an anime character's. It made her seem kind of vulnerable, like you could stab her in her eyes easy because they were so big. They were also the sort of eyes that could cry waterfalls. That idea made me shudder. I did not like crying women. There was this sweet sort of innocence to her eyes, but there was hurt to. Somehow, she was innocent and jaded at the same time; if that was even possible. Her skin was neither tan nor pale, but it worked for her. It looked soft. Her hair looked soft too. I found myself wondering once again what she was doing over here all by herself. This time, though, it wasn't about figuring out her "type" and strategizing. There was just something so lonely about her. I don't know how I missed it before.

I realized I had been staring, so I quickly looked away. I could not remember who had been last to talk, but I figured I could go. Maybe I could get some answers to why she was so lonely, and why she was over here all by herself. "So, what're ya here for? Let me guess, actress, right?" I shot her a grin. I had a whole bunch of grins, smirks, and smiles. Each one had a different purpose, and most had an 85% success rate.

All I got this time, though, was a vague maybe. Still, she seemed to be blushing a little, so maybe a maybe wasn't so bad.

I did my best to keep putting on the charm, and I noticed she had a pretty quick tongue. I had never met a girl I thought I might actually enjoy talking to before, versus just doing other things, but I got the feeling she would be fun to get into things with. She could hold her own, and she didn't give an inch. She was sassy, and sexy, both of which I told her. Her blush grew, but she didn't let on. If we were having this conversation over the phone and I couldn't see her face, I would think I wasn't having any affect on her. She was totally believable, telling me she doesn't care about being sexy and blah blah blah, but the red tint to her cheeks meant that she cared a little, for pride reasons if nothing else.

We fenced a little while, and she made another cowboy comment, which I responded to with a crude comment about the nude world of Wade. Pretty people all walking around with no clothes on. Scratch that. Pretty girls over fifteen walking around with no clothes on, and me. No other guys, 'specially not ones I know. That would be disturbing.

She thought my comment was funny, though she didn't seem to want to admit it. I caught her suppressing a smile and called her on it though.

I introduced myself, and she shook my hand, which was a good sign. The moment I made contact with her skin … I cannot even describe it. I've touched girls, and way more than just shaking their hands, but there was something in that moment that I just couldn't …

I waited for her to introduce herself, but all she said was, "Nice grip. That'll serve you well in there. She likes people with firm handshakes. First impressions can make or break it for you."

I was a little surprised. How could she know that? Was she just talking about the business in general, or did she know the lady with the big office.

"You met her before?" I asked.

She got this sort of smile on her face, the kind you get when you've got a secret that makes what the person is asking you hilarious because it should be obvious, and if they knew they would act totally different. "You could say that."

So she did know her. Okay. Well, maybe I could use that. I tried to get her to put in a good word, to which she responded, "Wouldn't be fair. I've never heard you play." Her tone was sort of teasing, and I got the impression that maybe she was enjoying this little game as much as I was. It was nice to know. She said she was sorry, and while she was kidding around, playing along with the game, she still said it sort of kindly. I felt my lips turn up, totally on their own. It was not a carefully calculated grin or smirk; it just sort of happened. We locked eyes for a second, and I almost got lost in hers. They were so big, like a pool of hazel that you just wanted to jump into a swim around in. And she was looking at me like, well, I don't know exactly. It wasn't the way girls usually looked at me, all hot and bothered, but it wasn't really a bad way either. There was this … tension I couldn't explain, and looking in her eyes, it seemed like maybe, just for a moment, she felt it too.

"_Sippin' Whiskey_?" I heard somebody called. Turning, I saw a woman looking up from her clipboard, tapping her heals impatiently. _Well, guess that's my cue_. As anxious as I was for us to audition, I'll admit I was a little disappointed that I had to go.

I grabbed my guitar and started to leave, but, I didn't really want to. What if I never saw her again? It wasn't like I knew her number or anything, and something about this slightly bizarre encounter gave me the impression it would be a mistake to ask. Well, it wasn't like it really mattered. She was just supposed to be a distraction to calm my nerves, and it seemed to have worked. I mean, I don't know if calm is exactly the word I would use, but I definitely felt good. I was more than ready to wow these record people.

"Hey, you never told me your name."

"No, I didn't." she said it so casually, sittin' there, pickin' that magazine she had been readin' back up. She was looking down at it, as though she was some queen who had just dismissed me.

"You gonna?" She just shook her head, a smirk playing across her lips. She was ballsy, I had to give her that. "Well then, Mystery Girl, I guess this is goodbye." I said flirtatiously before heading off. Then, and don't ask me why I did this, because I have no idea, but I turned back to her slightly and said, "Maybe I'll see ya 'round." Lord knew why I said it, but I had. It didn't make sense, why would I see her? It wasn't exactly likely that we'd run into each other again, and I didn't know why I wanted to, or even if I wanted to. So, I just turned back and headed for the office.


	3. Chapter 3: Let's Make A Deal: Zoe's POV

Chapter Three

Let's Make A Deal

Zoe's POV

Well, my mom finally put me to work. Its just hanging flyers up a bunch of places, but it's better than sitting reading a boring magazine for the fifth time. After the cowboy left, things had gotten even duller. The parade of wannabes was lessening, which meant it was getting later, and we would probably be leaving soon, a fact that I was infinitely grateful for.

"Zoe?" I heard my mom call.

I looked up, "Is it time to leave?" I asked, trying not to sound as anxious as I was to get the hell out of there.

"Not quite. But you're dad's on the phone." I jumped up, knocking over the fliers.

"I'll pick them up as soon as I get off the phone." I say quickly before my mom can chastise me. Then I run directly into her office.

There is a picture of the family on her desk. Weird, considering they're divorced, that she would want to keep that 'happy family' picture there. Personally, it would kill me to look at it everyday, a reminder of how we used to be.

I took a deep breath and picked up her office phone, "Dad?" I asked.

"Hello Zoe." His voice was gruff and businesslike, as though he were talking to a colleague, not his daughter, "How are you?"

I wanted to tell him how miserable I was and how much I missed him, but I didn't want to sound whiney. We used to be so close; I could tell him anything. Lately though, he had just been so distant, and I didn't want to do anything to make him mad at me or disappointed in me or just anything that might push him away more. "I'm fine. How are you?"

"Busy." He responded, "I just wanted to check in."

"Well that's very-"

"Listen, Zoe, I have to go. Can you say goodbye to your mom for me?"

Wow, that was short. Why had he even bothered calling if he was going to hang up within thirty seconds. "Yeah, sure." I said, trying to sound less taken aback then I felt, "Um, I love you."

"Bye." I heard a dial tone and sighed. It didn't mean anything that he hadn't said it back. He had been in a hurry. Probably some big emergency. In fact, it was considerate of him to take the time to check in._ Yep, just keep rationalizing it Zoe._ I tried to ignore the thought. I wasn't rationalizing, I was being realistic. It would be great if parents could be there for their kids twenty-four seven, but life didn't work like that. They had to have jobs, and sometimes those jobs were more time-consuming than one would like. It was nobody's fault. And he had called, so, that's a victory.

"You're off the phone already?" my mom asked as I came back into the room.

"Well, he had to go, but he said to say goodbye to you."

"Oh, how thoughtful." My mom said sarcastically. I bent down and started picking the rest of the fliers up, "Zoe, actually, could you leave the fliers. I'm starving. Would you mind running to the sandwich shop next-door and getting me a sandwich. Wheat bread, lettuce, tomatoes, no cheese or-"

"Nothing fattening. I got it." I say. Like I don't know my mom worries about that stuff; I've only lived with the woman my whole life, and since dad moved out, it's just the two of us. I know her better than I wish I did.

Anyway, she nods and gives me some money, "You can get something too if you like." She says it like its and afterthought. Like she totally forgot I'm going to need to eat at some point. God, I miss dad.

"Gee, thanks."

* * *

The line at the sandwich shop isn't long. It's pretty short actually, and the guy at the counter is nice, which is good, because this sandwich run thing will probably become a regular part of my 'volunteering' routine.

"Here you go." He says, handing me the sandwich.

"Thanks," I say. I actually mean it. This is a break from being there, and while I know if I dawdle too long, my mom will have my head, it is nice to be somewhere other than that stupid reception room for a few minutes. "Actually, can I also get a diet coke?" I say, figuring if I get a drink I can sit for a while at one of the tables. He nods, adds it to the bill, and motions to the freezer. I grab a diet coke and take a seat. The place is kind of dead, so I start talking to him. Not like I have anything better to do, and he's nicer than the people mom works with, "So, how long have you worked here?" I ask.

"Own, actually, and I bought this place about six years ago."

"Cool," I say, taking a sip, "So, did you always want to own a sandwich shop, or …"

He laughs, "No, I don't figure a lot of little boys dream about that. Just sort of ended up here but, I like it."

"Do you cut the meat yourself?" This time I'm actually curious. Being a butcher must be kind of like surgery, only, since it's dead, you don't have to be as careful. Still, if I could get a part-time job here, it might just get me out of PR duty, and from the looks of things, it's about as close to surgery as I'm going to get this summer.

"Yeah. Why, you got some sort of restriction?"

I shake my head, "No, but, um, any chance you're hiring?"

He frowns, "It's a family business, and we're pretty well staffed actually, but if that changes…"

I nod. I can tell he's humoring me.

"Well, thanks for the soda, sandwiches and company."

"Anytime," he says with a nod.

I start to head out and I almost run over a boy carrying a box of something.

"Sorry." We both say. I help him with the box. Once we put it, I get a good look at him. He's around my age, and kind of cute, curly brown hair, brown eyes, dimples.

He smiles at me, "Sorry." He repeats, but he says it differently, and I get the impression that he was checking out how I look to. I blush in spite of myself. God, what is with me today? You'd think I never met a cute guy before.

"It was my fault." I say, "I should have been paying better attention."

"Well, I should have too."

"How could you? You had a big box blocking your line of vision? I had nothing, and yet-"

"How about we agree to disagree on who should apologize then, and just say that whoever it was, we just accept?"

I smile, "Works for me."

"I'm Roy." He says, putting his hand out.

"Zoe," I say, "Um, I've got to get going, but it was nice meeting you."

He nods, "You coming back again?"

I smile at his boldness, "Probably. I'm sandwich run girl for a place nearby."

He smiles, then his voice drops to a whisper, "Well, try to come by around three in the afternoon. My dad goes out so I work the register. I'll give you a discount."

"Why would you do a thing like that?" I ask flirtatiously.

He shrugged, "Don't tell my dad, but the prices here are way too high. He's robbing people."

I giggle, "Oh, so you do that for everybody while your working?"

He starts to lose his boldness. He's squirming a little and looking all awkward and nervous. It is beyond adorable, "Well, I just thought-"

"I'm not saying I'm turning down the offer. I guess we'll just have to see."

He nods, "I guess we will."

* * *

When I get back, I see that cowboy from earlier trying to get in, "Look, I was here earlier, and I left somethin'." He sounds kind of desperate. He has this look on his face like a kicked puppy. I can't imagine how you could turn somebody down when they look like that.

She just shakes her head, "Sorry, no visitors or musicians after hours without an appointment."

_God, she was a pain_. Real bitch this receptionist. This proves it.

"He's with me." I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

He turns to look at me, surprised. Whether he's surprised to see me, surprised that I'm helping him, or surprised that I might have _the power _to help him, I can't tell, but there it is.

The receptionist rolls her eyes like the condescending bitch she is, but she let's us by.

I walk past breezily, pretending like I do this all the time, and he follows me. I don't see my mom anywhere, which I am kind of grateful for. I do see the fliers on the floor so I go to pick them up.

"Thanks." I hear from behind me. I nod without turning around and bend down to get the fliers. A couple of seconds later, I see a pair of hands near mine on the floor, "Let me help you with that."

"Thanks, but you don't have to-"

"It's the least I could do."

We both stand, and he hands me the fliers I gathered. His eyes meet mine, and I feel a shiver. Good thing? Bad thing? I'm not sure, but my initial reaction is to turn away, and hey, I have to put the fliers up anyway. I grab a bunch of thumbtacks and start on the fliers, "So, what did you leave?"

"What?"

I look at him, and his eyes dodge my gaze for some reason, "You said you left something-"

"Oh, that. Yeah. It's, uh, my wallet."

"Oh." I have to say, I'm a little disappointed. Something about how upset he was made me think I was in for a heartstring-pulling kind of story, like he left the last photo he had of his dead father or something.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just, it seemed like it was a bigger deal than that."

"What d'ya mean?"

I shrug, "Well, it's just a wallet."

He shoots me a look that makes me uncomfortable, "It's got $400 in it. Which, for the record, is all I got." There is an edge to his voice when he says it.

I turn and stare at him, shocked. "You mean, like, all you have spending cash, or …?"

"No, I mean like all I got. And I had to clean a lot of tables to get it. Took a while to save it up."

My mind is just flashing a does-not-compute sign over and over again.

"But, I mean, when you go back to … Bluebird?" I try, unable to remember.

"Bluebell." He says with a scoff.

"Right. Well, when you get back there, your parents can help you out, right?"

He stares at me like I'm a Martian, "You think if they could afford to give me that much, I would have spent seven months waiting tables at a dive bar?"

"I didn't know you did. And I thought minors can't-"

"Serve. You can still work at a bar."

"What about child labor laws." He just shrugs, "So you really only have four hundred bucks? And you think that that's a lot of money?"

By this point his face is pretty red. I cannot tell if he is more irritated, or embarrassed. My mind keeps telling my mouth to shut up, but I'm just so flummoxed. I mean, I've seen like, hobos and beggars on the streets of Manhattan, but this guy has clothes, he doesn't reek, he doesn't look malnourished. I'm not shallow. Honest. I've just never really met somebody who would freak out about losing a few hundred bucks. It just never seemed like a lot of money.

He turns away from me and heads towards the bathrooms. I sigh, put the fliers down, and head in the same direction, "Wait." I say as I try to catch up with him. He doesn't stop, just disappears into the men's room. Shit.

I look down at my heels. You never know what you might find in a boys room, and I do not want to ruin my shoes. Then, I look at the door. He better not be using a urinal; I will never be able to erase that image. Slowly, I push the door open.

"Hello." I call cautiously. At first, I don't see him.

"You shouldn't be in here. Not unless you're hidin' a penis under that pretty little skirt of yours."

I look down. He's looking under the stalls. I wince, thinking of how dirty the floors are. Then, reluctantly, I drop down to his level, trying to touch the floor as little as possible, "I'm guessing you lost your wallet in here?"

"Yep."

"And here I thought you were just trying to get away from me."

"I didn't say I wasn't."

I sigh, "Look, I'm sorry, okay. It's just … unusual for me."

"Yeah, I'll bet. So, what, you're some rich princess from some snooty family who only rub elbows with each other and pretend like the rest of us don't exist?"

"As far as nicknames go, I think I preferred Mystery Girl." I say, trying for humor. He just scoffs, "I really didn't mean to insult you. At least let me help you look for-"

"I'm not some charity case!" He shoots at me.

That's it. This is ridiculous. This guy doesn't want my help. I don't know why I felt guilty in the first place. He's clearly an ass.

I stand and brush my skirt off, "Fine. Whatever."

* * *

I spend the next ten minutes taking my frustration and anger out on innocent thumbtacks, staples, and corkboards. Yeah, sure, maybe I should have handled it different. I'm only human, and a teenager no less. One misstep, and suddenly, I'm Marie Antoinette!

"Hey." I hear behind me. I ignore him, stapling another paper on the wall, "I, uh, I found it." He says sheepishly.

"Good for you." I respond, making no attempt to sound pleasant.

"Well, uh, thanks again for, you know, lettin' me in." I nod, but don't look at him, "Listen, I'm sorry, okay. The money thing, it's a … it's a sore point with me."

"Well, how am I to know that?" I snap, turning toward him.

"You're not. I was just … overly sensitive." I gape at him. This is a pretty pathetic apology, and I can tell by the look on his face that he knows it, "look, let me make it up to you."

Okay, now I'm curious. Make it up to me, "How?" I ask.

"Let me take you out." Wow. Was not expecting that. "Tomorrow night. I'll, uh, use the money in my wallet." He smiles at me. It's sort of a smirk, but it's also sort of hopeful, maybe even a little nervous. I don't know. How can a person with such an expressive face be so hard to read?

"You've got to be kidding me." I say" Are you serious?"

I notice his face fall for a millisecond, but then the smirk returns, "As a heart attack." I just gape at him. Is he serious? He can't be serious? Seriously? Okay, I'm starting to sound like a valley girl now. I need to switch gears. "Come on. It'll be fun, I promise."

I'll be honest, for a second, I consider it. I'm not a big dater, but I have dated, and I've enjoyed it … most of the time. And he is charming with hypnotizing eyes and a nice smile when it's genuine. He's sort of fun to talk to, ad definitely the most exciting thing to happen to me this summer. And he doesn't know anything about me, so I could be whomever I wanted. But he comes off kind of like a player, which is always bad news. He's a musician, and what's more, one who might end up working with my mother. Aside from that, he lives in a southern town that I've never even heard of, and if he can't get a record deal, he's probably going right back there. If he does get a record deal, he'll be traveling all the time and … I know, I know, I'm getting ahead of myself. He just seems like the kind of guy who could charm a girl easily, and if I fell for him, and he left … "In your dreams, cowboy."

"I'd enjoy that," he says, smirking again.

I smile and shake my head, "You really are full of yourself, aren't you?"

He shrugs, "I figure most people are. Their just too polite to say it."

I laugh. He's definitely funny, and lord knows I could use a laugh now. Maybe I should reconsider. I mean, who says it has to be so big a deal. It could just be some fun summer fling. I could fling. I could totally fling. I could become a full-fledged flinger if I wanted.

"See that, you enjoy my company." Whoa, that was weird. Is he like, a mind reader or something? Then I remember that I laughed at his joke, "What harm could one date do?" A lot. It could do a lot of harm.

Once I finish with the fliers, I figure I should call my mom to find out where the hell she is. My heel catches on something, and I stumble. The cowboy catches me. I feel like I'm in some cheesy movie; I did not think cliché's like that happen in real life.

If this were a movie, I would look up into his eyes and feel a connection or something, but this is real life, and that is so not going to happen.

"Whoa, you okay there?" I glance up without thinking. Crap!

I try to dodge his gaze, but I can feel him looking at me. There is slight concern in his eyes, which is kind of cute. I mean, I just tripped. It's not like I even fell or anything. He made sure of that. He caught me. But I don't care. I won't care. I could easily have caught myself.

His hands are on my arms, holding me steady. My skin tingles where he touches it. He has strong hands too; I can tell. And he's strong, holding me up, because I can feel myself weakening, and if he weren't holding me here, I think I'd probably collapse.

My head tells me to step out of his grasp and away from him, but my legs won't move. My throat is dry. When did that happen? Finally, I force myself to step back. "Yeah, I'm fine." I say, trying to sound as in control as I can, "Thanks."

He nods. I can still feel his eyes boring into me, and I can't not look up. The way he's looking at me, nobody's ever looked at me like that before. I shiver a little, and apparently, it's noticeable, because he asks if I'm cold. Before I can respond, he's draping his jacket over my shoulders. I turn around, and I'm right up against him. How does this keep happening?

"Thanks." I say. He just nods. We just stay like that for a minute or so, and then, I notice his head start to drop down to my level. A part of me I screaming how this is insane, how I don't even know this guy, and what kind of pervert kisses a girl who he met less than twelve hours ago and doesn't even know the name of. The other part of me wants to let him, wants to taste him and feel his lips on mine. I guess I'll never know if I would have let him though, because before his head reaches my level, I hear my mom call my name. I jump, and he does too, though I think he's more reacting to my reaction than her voice.

Quickly, I shed the jacket and hand it back to him. "Thanks." I repeat, this time more urgently. He looks at me confused, but takes the jacket.

My mom comes out of her office, "Zoe. Where were you?"

I turn to her, "I was here. Where were you?"

"I … had to step out." Great. She has a new sex-toy. That'll be fun.

"Yeah, well, I guess while you were 'stepping out,' I came back." I say, folding my arms.

She looks at me, and then notices that I'm not alone.

"Who is this?" she asks.

He steps forward, extending his hand, "Wade Kinsella, ma'am." Right, Wade. That's his name, "I, well, my band played for you earlier today."

"Right." she says in a way the clearly implies she has no recognition, "Well, we'll be in touch." He nods, "Why are you still here?"

"He left something important here by accident. I let him in." I say before either one of them says something stupid. I don't want him getting in trouble, or getting me in trouble, and I don't really want him knowing she's my mom, or what connection I have to this place. I don't know why exactly. There was just something sort of appealing and exciting about being mystery girl.

"Oh, well, the sandwiches-"

"Are in the fridge. You're welcome for that by the way."

She nods indifferently, "Did you get anything for yourself?"

"I already ate." I lie. Like I want to sit through an awkward lunch that by this point would be dinner anyway.

"All right, well, we should talk. Meet me in my office after-"

"Sure, whatever." Sometimes, when you know where people are going, it just saves time to cut them off. I am not trying to be mean. It's just a fact.

After she leaves, I turn back to Wade. "You should probably get going."

"Tryin' to get rid of me?" he asks cheekily, "listen, how 'bout I make you a deal?"

"Depends. What kind of deal?"

"Well, New York is a big place, right? There are so many people, the odds of two strangers like us randomly runnin' into each aren't huge. So, I figure, if, after I leave here today, you and I see each other again, we call it a sign, and then you go out with me."

"I don't know that you can call that a sign. I mean, one is just a point, two is a line, three is a pattern."

He looks confused for a second, then shakes his head, "Fine, three then. If, within the next month, you and I randomly run into each other three times, you'll let me take you out."

"You don't give up, do you?"

He shrugs, "What can I say, I got a feelin' 'bout this. 'Sides, I know you want to go out as much as I do."

"Do not."

"Say what you want, but I saw your face just now."

"Just when?"

"When we were standin' close. I almost kissed you and, you uh, you almost let me."

"I did not!" well, maybe not. But even if it was true, he still doesn't have a right to just say that.

His eyebrows go up questioningly, "Really? You sure you want to stick with that story?" he's wearing that cocky smirk again. I roll my eyes. Then, he starts to advance towards me. I back up a little. He smiles, "Why you backin' away? Scared of bein' proved wrong?"

"Maybe I just don't want you breathing all over me."

He chuckles, "That is the lamest excuse I have ever heard."

He advances again, and I duck to the side to avoid ending up in a corner. He tries a few more times, and I keep dodging him but the smirk never leaves his face. It's like some bizarre game of tag, and he's loving it. And I kind of am too. I start to giggle; I just can't help it. His smile grows to a full-fledged grin.

"Zoe!" my mom calls.

I brush a strand of hair from my face and try to calm my giggling, "I have to-" I point in the direction of the office, giving him an apologetic smile.

He nods, "So, what do ya say?"

"About what?"

"My proposition."

I have to think for a second. Then I remember, three chance meetings, "Okay."

"Yeah?" he seems a little surprised, but his eyes light up. He's trying to play it cool, but I can tell he really wanted me to say yes.

I giggle again and nod, "Yes really. What, you want me to take it back?" I tease.

He shakes his head, "No ma'am. All right, well, I'll see you around," he pauses, and then catches my gaze, "Zoe."


	4. Chapter 4: Rude New Yorkers: Wade's POV

Chapter Four

Rude New Yorkers

Wade Kinsella POV

The audition seemed to go pretty well. The woman who listened to us was very prim and proper and clearly not into rock music, but she seemed curious. Anyway, she didn't kick us out, so that's something. I would sort of hoping the girl would still be around when we got out, but if she was, I didn't see her.

We hit a couple other places, some of which saw us, some of which didn't, but the point was that we were getting out there. That was what mattered. I refused to end up just another deadbeat who could not make it out of Alabama.

"I'm goin' to call Addie." Jordan said the second we got through the door.

I rolled my eyes. Addie was Jordan's ex-girlfriend. She was seeing Bill Pickett now, but Jordan refused to give up, even though any idiot could see it was over.

"Hey, don't take to long okay? When you're done wastin' long-distance minutes on a pointless phone call, I'd like to check in with the folks." I called over my shoulder as I flipped on the TV.

There was a knock at the door. "Anybody goin' to get that?" I call. Nobody answers, so, with a sigh, I get up and head to the door.

There's a cute girl standing there wearing a funny hat and carrying a pizza box, "Uh, anybody order pizza?" I call over my shoulder.

"Yeah, I thought we should eat." Jordan answers, covering the receiver. Figures. Guy hogs the phone and doesn't get the door, now I'm stuck paying for his pizza. I reach into my jeans and come up empty, "Uh, just a sec." I say awkwardly before making my way back into the place. "Hey! Any of you guys seen my wallet?" I ask as I look through the couch cushions.

Drake comes in with a soda, "Doubt it's here. We've spent barely two minutes in this place."

"So, what, I gotta search everyplace I been since we got to New York?" He just shrugs. I go through it in my head. The last time I remember having my wallet was at the place with that mystery girl. That P.R. Hart lady gave me a business card and I put it in my wallet. Well, it's a place to start I guess.

"I'm headin' out." I call. Nobody answers. I head for the door, and then remember the pizza girl who's still standing here, "Yo, Jordan, pay for your own pizza!"

* * *

It's gotta be rush-hour or something, because New York is even crazier now than it was earlier. There are about a million people elbowing past me, not caring if they knock into me or what. Don't get me wrong, I want to make it here, but there is something way crazy about New York. I get lost a whole bunch of times.

"Hey kid." Somebody calls to me. Well, I think it's to me anyway; it's hard to tell with the billions of people passing.

When I turn around, I see a shady looking kind of guy beckoning me over. I guess I'm a little green, but, what can I say, stuff like this just doesn't happen in New York. "You wanna buy a joint?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know, Mary Jane, Weed, Pot?" he looks at me like I'm some kind of idiot, "Marijuana." I just stare at him, "Kid, you retarded or something?"

"I … what?"

He smiles like he's made contact or something. When he speaks again, it's less rough. His voice has a smooth honey-like quality to it. "You look like you could use some."

"I do?"

"Yeah. You look kinda down-on-your-luck like, you know?" I notice he's chewing a wad of something, presumably pot. "New to the city, trying to make it out of whatever Podunk backwards southern hick town you came from."

"Hey, Its not-"

"Hey, hey, calm down man, okay. Yeah, I'm not saying the place doesn't have its merit, but you want more than that, don't you?"

I don't know what to say. I mean, who is this guy?

"You got that green hick boy look to you that a bunch of people are gonna see and kick you out before you can say your piece. This city, it can chew you up and spit you right on out."

"Listen, I'm not-"

"Shhh. You don't gotta say anything brother. I feel you; I know where you're coming from. Tell you what, I'm gonna start you off with a freebie," he slides a plastic bag of weed into my palm, "and if you happen by again and want some more, great, if not, well, no harm no foul, right?"

"I -"

"See, I like you kid. Trying to leave your past behind and make it in the big city, it's fucking heartwarming to an old softy like me. Take some of this New York 'fertilizer,' and go ride that magic carpet right on to your dreams. And I can come see you someday when you're a success, and know I helped you get there, see?" this time he doesn't even let me finish opening my mouth. "See you kid. Good luck." I barely blink and the psycho disappears into the crowd. And somehow, I ended up with a bag of stuff my mother would kill me for having. I consider trashing it, but then I reconsider. I mean, I'm not gonna smoke it; I may be green, but I'm not stupid. There is no way I'd risk my future getting high, not when I'm so close to getting somewhere. 'Sides, my mom would have my hide.

The thoughts make me miss home. Things were a little weird when I left. Her and dad were practically pushing me out the door, and, I mean, I appreciate the support, but I feel like maybe there's something else going on, something they don't want me around for. I'm probably just being paranoid.

Back to the pot. I already decided I'm not gonna smoke it, but do I really want to trash it? I mean, what's the harm in holding on to it. I could pretend I do it; up my street cred, or, I don't know, use it to bribe my way out of trouble? I just feel like it might come I handy some day, and, I mean, it seems like such a waste to just junk it. So, I figure I'll hang onto it for a little bit.

* * *

I pass a few more creeps, but this time, I know to keep walking. Finally, I reach that big building. I head for the elevator. The place has a doorman, and he nods at me as if to say 'you and me are the same, not like these rich city types.' I just smile and head on past him.

The elevator takes me up, and I get out, heading for the reception desk. I don't see that girl from earlier. Not that I expected her to be around after office hours, but I gotta admit, I'm kind of disappointed.

I give the receptionist a smile that she doesn't return. She's kind of scary looking, clearly wearing way too much makeup.

"Hi-"

"Office hours ended. Come back tomorrow."

What is it with New Yorkers and interrupting?

"I just-"

"I said office hours are over."

"If you'd just listen-"

"Office hours ended. No amount of listening will change that."

I clench my teeth, frustrated. I'm trying really hard to be charming, but this lady is a bitch if I ever saw one.

"Please, I -"

"Young man, the offices are closed. Everybody has gone home. Nobody can see you."

"But, see, I don't need anybody, I just -"

"And I'm certainly not letting some boy go poking around in the back."

"Well, I'm a potential client actually -"

"I wouldn't let an actual client do that, unless otherwise instructed, so I'm certainly not going to let you poke around back there."

"Look, I was here earlier, okay? And I left somethin'-"

"Sorry, no visitors or musicians after hours without an appointment."

I open my mouth, trying to think of some other argument, when I hear a voice behind me say, "He's with me."

I turn around to see the mystery girl from earlier standing there like she owns the place. She's shorter than I would have guessed, but she's fiery.

"Well," the receptionist says, huffing and rolling her eyes, "you really shouldn't let him wander off then. You're lucky I didn't call security." She gives the girl the chastising sort of look a babysitter would give to the kid if he disobeyed, but she stands her ground. Finally, the lady presses a button and the gate swings open, "check your friends in next time." The girl just scoffs and walks right on by like that woman is the gum beneath her shoe or something. Who _is_ this girl?

I realize she stopped walking, and that she's bending down to pick up a bunch of papers. Watching her, I stutter out a thanks. She nods, but doesn't look up. I'm still stunned, but I try to get a grip of myself. I figure I should help her with those papers she's picking up. It's the gentlemanly thing to do. Aside from that, I kind of owe her, "Let me help you with that." I say as I start grabbing up some of the papers.

"Thanks, but you don't have to-"

"It's the least I could do." I say, cutting her off. Guess this whole interrupting New Yorker thing is contagious. When we get up, I hand her the papers, and she smiles gratefully. I don't know why I'm so sweaty. I look up at her, our eyes lock, and for a second. I can't breath. Then she turns away. She's so beautiful, I find myself just staring at her. Then she asks me something, which snaps me out of my bizarre, kind of pathetic trance, "What?"

"You said you left something-"

"Oh, that. Yeah. It's, uh, my wallet." _Get it together Kinsella._ You'd think I never talked to a pretty girl before.

She just says "Oh" dismissively and turns back to what she was doing like she just lost all interest.

"What?"

"It seemed like it was a bigger deal than that."

"What d'ya mean?" I ask, and you will never believe her answer.

"Well, it's just a wallet."

Just a wallet. Just a wallet! She may be some spoiled princess who can afford to lose money, but I'm not and I can't.

"It's got $400 in it. Which, for the record, is all I got." I say.

She looks at me like I just told her I know how to travel between dimensions or something, "You mean, like, all you have spending cash, or …?"

God! How spoiled is this girl? Where I come from, four hundred bucks isn't exactly chump change. But I guess she'd have no problem walking around with exactly that much, "No, I mean like all I got. And I had to clean a lot of tables to get it. Took a while to save it up." I don't know whether I'm more pissed off or embarrassed. You know what, no, I do know. I am pissed. What right does she have to judge my income? It's not like I live on the street with just five bucks to my name.

She bites her lip awkwardly and I try not to think it's cute, because this girl may be nice to look at, but she's a spoiled little bitch, and I don't need that kind of drama. Besides, if four hundred bucks is her idea of spending money, she is clearly out of my league. Not that I care. I don't. Honest.

"But, I mean, when you go back to … Bluebird?"

"Bluebell."

"Right. Well, when you get back there, your parents can help you out, right?"

Naïve, spoiled, stupid, why did I find this girl interesting again? Annoying yes, but interesting? I must have been out of my mind earlier, "You think if they could afford to give me that much, I would have spent seven months waiting tables at a dive bar?"

"I didn't know you did. And I thought minors can't-"

"Serve alcohol. You can still work at a bar." I roll my eyes.

"What about child labor laws?" I just shrug, "So you really only have four hundred bucks? And you think that that's a lot of money?"

I just stand there, seething. I don't know what to say to that, but I know I need to get away from this girl before I say or do something I regret. I look for a men's room. Bingo. So long snobby mystery girl. She's way too prudish and naïve to venture into a guy's bathroom.

I've been here before. I went this morning and … you know, I think this might be where I dropped my wallet. I start checking beneath the stalls when I hear the door creek, "Hello."

Guess I was wrong. I'm still kind of miffed, but, I'll admit, I'm also a little impressed.

"You shouldn't be in here." I say, not bothering to stop my search and look at her, "Not unless you're hidin' a penis under that pretty little skirt of yours."

I see her drop down beside me. I suppress a smirk. She's trying to be cool, but I can tell she's disgusted. I won't lie; it's kind of cute. And it's definitely what she deserves, or needs or whatever, a spoiled girl like her.

"I'm guessing you lost your wallet in here?"

I suppress an eye roll. Talk about stating the obvious. I answer with a simple, "Yep."

"And here I thought you were just trying to get away from me."

"I didn't say I wasn't."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay. It's just … unusual for me."

"Yeah, I'll bet. So, what, you're some rich princess from some snooty family who only rub elbows with each other and pretend like the rest of us don't exist?" I ask bitterly.

"As far as nicknames go, I think I preferred Mystery Girl." Me too.

I can tell she's trying to be funny, lighten the mood or whatever, but I'm still pissed off, and I want her to know it. Maybe it's more than that though. This little princess is trying to ease her conscience, helping out the poor kid. It's embarrassing. The fact that she's pretty doesn't help. The last thing I want is some pretty girl pitying me.

"I really didn't mean to insult you." She says, all angelic-like, "At least let me help you look for-"

"I'm not some charity case!" I yell. I am so sick of this chick and her superior attitude and her pitying looks. And it has nothing to do with her kissable lips and long soft hair, or the fact that I now know I'd never have a shot at a rich princess like her. Because I could care less about that. Really. I mean, she's not even that attractive. Her chest leaves a lot to be desired. Still, she kind of makes up for it with those smooth looking legs of hers.

She says something and walks off. I might be crazy, but she almost sounded … hurt? No, what would a girl like her care about getting the cold shoulder from a guy who only had four hundred bucks to his name.

I keep looking, going over the conversation in my head. Okay, so maybe I was being a little less than grateful. She did get me in here after all, and she did come in here and get down on her hands and knees to help me look.

But she was still a spoiled little thing, and I hated girls like that. I knew a few back home, and everything seemed worse in New York. Who was I kidding; I didn't even belong here. I should be back in Alabama.

No. I'm not doing that. I'm talking myself out of having a future just because of a few random doubts. No way. This was happening.

I saw my wallet peaking out from under one of the sinks. It was a little gross, so I did my best to clean it off and got out of the bathroom.

* * *

When I got out of the bathroom, I see that the mystery princess is still there. She's stapling some papers together, banging down hard each time. Her jaw is set and I can see the anger in her eyes. I start to feel a little guilty. Maybe I hurt her more than I thought. And she did help me. Plus, she is really pretty, and if I have enough effect on her for her to attack papers with a stapler like that, maybe I'm underestimating my chances.

"Hey." I say cautiously. No answer, "I, uh, I found it."

"Good for you." She grumbles angrily.

"Well, uh, thanks again for, you know, lettin' me in." I try. She keeps on with what she's doing, barely giving me a nod of acknowledgement. I let out a sigh. Guess it's time to man up and be the bigger person, "Listen, I'm sorry, okay. The money thing, it's a … it's a sore point with me."

"Well, how am I to know that?"

"You're not." I say with a sigh. I feel a little shitty now; I clearly hurt her feelings, though why a princess like her would care what I think is beyond me. "I was just … overly sensitive." I try. No luck; she looks as hurt and pissed off as before, "Look, let me make it up to you."

"How?"

Here goes nothing. Sure, it's a long shot, but she cares what I think of her; that's gotta mean something, right.

"Let me take you out. Tomorrow night. I'll, uh, use the money in my wallet." I feel nervous as hell and I hope it doesn't show. I shoot her a signature Wade Kinsella smirk, except my nerves seem to short-circuit it a little. Because, for some strange reason, I really, really want her to say yes.

"You've got to be kidding me. Are you serious?"

Ouch. Okay, not exactly a ringing endorsement. But then I realize, it's not a no. Not technically anyway. I still have a shot here. I just have to make my case and be charming and hope for the best.

"Come on. It'll be fun, I promise." I say trying to encourage her.

"In your dreams, cowboy."

"I'd enjoy that." I don't know why I don't just give up and walk away, but I just can't. There's something about this mystery girl. We keep on talking, and I make her laugh making me wish I had a tape recorder so I could a) have proof that I got her to laugh, and b) listen to the sound over and over. God, that's a nauseating thought. It's all gooey and romantic.

I keep trying to make my case, and I get eye-rolls and sarcastic comments, but that just makes me want to try harder.

She starts to head off, without so much as throwing a goodbye over her shoulder I might add, when I notice her heels catch on something. For some reason, I sprint toward her and catch her before she can crash. Not that it would have been tragic or anything, just a little slip. Still, it felt like the thing to do. She could have hurt herself. And, I mean, who wears heels that high? No wonder she tripped.

She feels so soft and light in my arms, and when she looks up at me, my breath catches. God, she's beautiful. Like, goddess beautiful. And her eyes are … there aren't even words. And as our eyes lock I feel this, I don't know, connection. It's like nothing I've ever felt before, with anyone. It's like there's this pull, like she's some mythical creature freezing me with her gaze, and I can't even bring myself to mind. It's like a moment that last forever, and at the same time, is far to short. And she feels it too; I can see it in or eyes. Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?

She steps out of my grasp, and I miss the contact instantly. She mumbles a thank you, and I nod because I can't seem to speak. I just keep watching her, this girl who made me feel more for her in mere seconds than I have for girls I've spent hours of even days with.

I notice her shiver a little, "You cold?" I ask, offering her my jacket. I feel this bizarre need to protect her. I can't explain it. I can't explain any of it. Everything stopped making sense the second I got hypnotized by those big, beautiful, somewhat sad eyes.

Then, she turns to thank me, and she's so close I can hear her breathing. And then, and don't ask me why I do it, but I feel myself lean down to kiss her. I can't not, she's standing there so perfect and so close, looking so kissable and smelling so good, and I just have to go for it.

"Zoe."

She jumps back, startling me, and I jump too. Zoe. Hm, so that's her name. Interesting.

For some reason, she gets all weird and nervous. She hands me back the jacket, thanking me, and I don't really know what to do or what just happened. I can't believe I almost kissed her. I can't believe she almost let me. Maybe I have more of a shot than I thought.

"Zoe. Where were you?" The PR lady asks her.

She turns, puts her hands on her hips, and responds, "I was here. Where were you?" in the most adorable sassy manner I have ever heard.

"I … had to step out."

"Yeah, well, I guess while you were 'stepping out,' I came back."

"Who is this?"

Well, she doesn't remember me. That's not a great sign. But maybe I can get my face in her head again now. Awkward circumstances, but still. "Wade Kinsella, ma'am." I say, giving her my best classic Kinsella smile and trying to sound charming. "I, well, my band played for you earlier today."

"Right. Well, we'll be in touch. Why are you still here?"

"He left something important here by accident. I let him in." Mystery Girl, that is, Zoe, says.

They start talking about sandwiches, and she continues to be kind of a bitch and sassy, which for some reason I find sexy as hell. Then, the PR lady leaves, and turns back to me. "You should probably get going."

"Tryin' to get rid of me?" I ask, stalling. I don't want to leave. I didn't get the impression that the PR lady gave a shit about me or the band, meaning I probably won't be back, meaning I may never see this sassy, mysterious, Zoe girl again. And for some reason, that doesn't sit right with me. I don't want to never see her again. I'm in no way okay with it. Especially since I never even got to kiss her. I need to know that I at least have a shot of seeing her again, but New York isn't like Bluebell, and once I walk out that door, the odds we'll run into each other again are slim to none. Suddenly, I get an idea. It may be stupid, but it's all I got. I just hope she goes for it. "Listen, how 'bout I make you a deal? New York is a big place, right? There are so many people, the odds of two strangers like us randomly runnin' into each aren't huge. So, I figure, if, after I leave here today, you and I see each other again, we call it a sign, and then you go out with me."

"I don't know that you can call that a sign. I mean, one is just a point, two is a line, three is a pattern."

I have no clue what that means, but I'm not gonna let it stop me. I'm a man on a mission. "Fine, three then. If, within the next month, you and I randomly run into each other three times, you'll let me take you out."

"You don't give up, do you?" She asks, the most adorable smirk on her face. She's teasing me a little, but something about the way she says it makes it sound almost like it might be a compliment. It's like she's amused, but also kind of impressed by my persistence. Well, if persistence is what she goes for, she ain't seen nothing yet, because I sure as hell am not going to leave my odds up to fate. If she agrees to this, I'm going to make damn sure we run into each other again, nothing accidental about it.

"What can I say, I got a feelin' 'bout this. 'Sides, I know you want to go out as much as I do."

"Do not."

I can't help but smirk at her immature answer. A subtle blush hits her cheeks, "Say what you want, but I saw your face just now."

"Just when?"

"When we were standin' close. I almost kissed you and, you uh, you almost let me."

"I did not!"

"Really? You sure you want to stick with that story?" I ask. I can prove her wrong. I know I can. If I get close to her again, I know she'll feel what I felt. She has to; it's too strong for just one person to being feeling it. Besides, it's fun to see her flustered. Start to get closer to her, and she jumps back like I have a contagious disease or something. I'll admit, it hurts a little, but it does sort of prove my point. She must have felt something, even if the thought of feeling it again is so deplorable to her that she has to jump back. "Why you backin' away?" I ask, trying to enjoy seeing her squirm so I don't let on that it hurt, "Scared of bein' proved wrong?"

"Maybe I just don't want you breathing all over me."

"That is the lamest excuse I have ever heard." I say. God, I want to kiss her again. If I could get close enough, I know she'd let me. But she's not going to let me close. That much is plain. Still, as I said, it's fun to see her squirm, so I make a couple 'attempts' just to see how she reacts. She's enjoying it; I can tell. She doesn't want to let on, but she's having fun with this little game. When she finally starts to giggle, I feel like I won the lottery. I don't know if it's because of how adorable she is when she giggles, or because I got her to giggle, to have fun. I think it's probably both. She looks like she could do with some fun in her life. And I am the definition of fun; ask anyone.

"Zoe!" The PR lady screams. Geez, what a slave driver. She can't survive without her intern or whatever Zoe is for five minutes?

"I have to-" she says, indicating she has to leave. She almost looks sorry to say goodbye. Not as sorry as I am though.

"So, what do ya say?"

"About what?"

"My proposition."

She doesn't answer at first, and I'm sure she's going to say no, but then she doesn't. She agrees. I feel like pumping my first in the air and cheering. I don't though. That would be embarrassing.

"All right, well, I'll see you around, Zoe."


End file.
